Woman, Independent Parent, Artist, Advocate, Artifical Pancreas.... and EVERYTHING in between.

I am blessed to be parenting two beautiful girls, ages eight and eleven. My youngest nearly lost her life at age six (August 2010) to diabetic ketoacidosis: an often fatal consequences of undiagnosed type 1 diabetes. This is OUR journey: raw and sometimes, uncensored.

Thank you for visiting wishing good health and a cooperative pancreas to you and yours.

Wednesday, April 27, 2011


I spend a great portion of each day crying. I do my very best to do it when they aren't around. Rowan has enough on her plate without assuming responsibility for my tears. I cry when they're at school. I cry in the car doing errands. I cry at night when I know it's safe to do so again. I cry falling asleep.... I sometimes cry IN my sleep.

I cry for Rowan's present circumstances, I cry for her future. I cry for the uncertainty and the permanency of it all. I cry for a way of life being forever altered and gone.

I cry for having to hurt Rowan with daily injections. I cry for it being the only way to keep her alive. I cry for the quality of life she may or may not ever know. I cry for there not being a partner in my life that I can look to warily and say "Do you think you could get this one for me?". I cry that it's always me. Absolutely always.

I cry for being absolutely overwhelmed and under supported.

I cry knowing the many impacts Type 1 diabetes will have on Rowan's long term health, but I also cry for the uncertainty of what this is doing to me and my long term health. I cry for the head full of grey hair's that weren't here ten months ago. I cry freaking out that if this will suck the colour out of my hair, what else is it going to suck out of my life? I cry knowing it could very well one day take Rowan away. I cry knowing that I could never survive that, and then I cry for my other daughter who would be left behind picking up the broken pieces of a family.

I cry for the responsibility this has heaped on her. On both of them. The diabetic and the "Other Little Mother"

I cry in my heart when she's testing her glucose and people say to her "Oh, you're too young to be having to do that". I cry that she was never given the choice.

I cry knowing that one day, we will have become so accustomed to this new life, that the tears will no longer fall. I cry knowing that's going to take so tremendously long. I cry because we aren't anywhere there yet.
I cry for a million and one different reasons. Some huge, some small. But my tears are always the same size. Monumental.


  1. For every cry there is a smile. For every action there is an equal and opposite reaction. When you cry about hurting her, smile for you know she lives another day. When you cry about her unknown future, smile knowing that this disease will make her face it head on without fear and total confidence. When you cry about shouldering the whole weigh, smile knowing she's getting the best possible care. When you cry for the altered life, smile knowing what a strong, brave girl you are raising. When you cry about being under supported, smile knowing that reinforcements are on their way. We are bound together by an undesired tie, however we will become friends because we understand one another. Hang in there. I'm on my way with the tissue. :)

  2. Hang in there Krystin, some days are worse than others, I'm 17 months in and I still cry a lot for most of the same reasons that you cry. I am very lucky to have a husband who does more than his fair share of d-care. I hurt for you. It is hard to get over that fact that you are having to hurt your child in order to save their life but I will do whatever I need to to do that and so will you, there is no alternative. We have to be happy that they were diagnosed as their lives were saved that day. Sending you a great big virtual hug,if you ever need to chat, send me a pm on FB and I'll turn on my chat if I'm there at that time. Much Love xoxo